Free your mind of expectations

No relief for a grieving child

On the Second of October, 2017, my Grandfather died. 

On a Monday morning, heavy with sleep, I answered the phone to my barely holding on mother, who started with a voice that cracked at the end of her sentence.  "I called you to tell you, that grandfather died this morning" 

The phone call was very brief, only to let me know of the devastating event, and that She will take a car the next day and take him back to his village, as per his last wish, to be burried where he grew up and lived, with a majestic orchestra, his sisters around, and the people that loved him.

I didn't have what to say. I stared at the ceiling for seconds that felt like hours, with my boyfriend besides me, looking at me as if I would break any second. What do you console your mom when she is crying? I don't think any child really knows, because for us, our parents are our heroes, they are invincible, until we see them break in front of our eyes, and we feel like the weakest creatures in the world. 

But even more so, maybe even worse, what do you tell a child griving after their parent? What can you do? You cannot tell them it's gonna be ok, because for them it is not. 

     The same day, I took 3 days of leave, made my backpack, took a plane and then a car home. I didn't cry, I didn't really think much about all this. I loved/love my grandfather, and I love my mom, so it was like an instinct for me to want to go home. But what could I do home, I was wondering? I cannot say or do anything to make it better, I have never been to a funeral, and all the rituals that were to happen would make me question everything. My father was in Germany, unable to arrive on time for the funeral, and my mom told him to stay there and take care of everything before coming back, that she could handle it. My brother was with my mom, and since me and him are so much alike even when we are not, I can imagine what he must be feeling like or doing.

I arrived home, but unlike all the other times I got home, this time there was no time for laughter or joy and hugs. Everyone was dressed in black, as were I, and even the candy and drinks on the table were not there with the purpose of bringing joy, but a preparation for what more was to come. In the middle of the livingroom, On a long table was a coffin connected to a cooler, all visible in the dim candle light and the two weak bulbs open in the kitchen. 

With his skin as pale as a paper, was my grandfather, dressed in a new suit, new shoes, socks, hat, with his old but good traveling pants which he wore only when we would go to his village, and one of my dad's good shirts on. His face was calm, and this time, his mouth was a straight line, my mom told me with a sad smile "I asked them to straighten his teeth, so he would look as he used to". I just nodded, I didn't remember a time when my grandfather had all his teeth, straight, even thou I had seen him smile a hundred times. But I didn't remember or know a lot of things.

         That night I stayed awake, I changed the candle to stay light until 7 in the morning, and wondered about all the traditions , like the upside down mug under the coffin, the cat that my mom was careful to not appear, the "event " that was supposed to happen 3 days after the death, then 3 weeks, 40 days and then 1 year after. I wondered about everything that would happen, and what had. I was thinking of my grandfather in the hospital , just a few weeks ago, when I had visited again, him telling me about what he wanted to happen at his old house after his death, and me not really understanding but nodding, trying to help him. 

He survived a heart attack, and then internal bleeding in the same month at 85 years, dying in his sleep from a cerebral attack at the beginning of the next month. 

       We arrived in his village a day later, at night, where they had his coffin open in the kitchen where my grandmother used to feed us all her food, while my grandfather would wash his feet before dinner after a whole day of hard work.

I watched them come and go, I watched my mom cry and then having to stop, I watched a drunk priest come and do more traditions, I spent time with my brother.

     The funeral day was the hardest. Imagine holding your mother's hand, walking slowly behind a car carrying the open coffin, while she's crying , and asking you

"Andreea, where is my dad going?"

"Where are you goingggg? "

"Dad, you cannot goooo, you have to come back with us home"

"Mom is waiting for you home dad, she is wondering where you went"

"Dad why are you leaving me?"

There is no consoling a grieving child.

The funeral was ...beautifuly tragic. The old style orchestra played a last time an old army song, and we had to say goodbye. 

During all these 3 days, I almost burst into tears 4 times, but my brother was there for me, to keep me strong, while I could only hug or hold my mom's hand, I had no words, nor did my brother. We both stayed occupied, talked, maybe even joked about stuff, maybe because we didn't know how to react, maybe we were just trying to be stronger than saddness, or just maybe we had already said our goodbyes in our own ways, at different times. 

A night later, I had also found out my brother smokes. I was pretty pissed, as I was on my boyfriend that "occasionaly" smokes. But hey, it's their choice, we are all addicted to something that gives us pleasure, even just for a short period of time.

During all these days, my grandmother was and probably is still not aware of her husband's death. Alzheimer erases the personality, the memory but the feelings remain, and I know for sure my grandmother felt his death, and my mom's grief. But I am happy she hasn't fully realized, selfishly so, because I don't ever want to think of her leaving this world too.

I left the day after, they drove me to the airport, with the promise that they will pick me up in November, when I would come with my boyfriend, Alfonso. I knew we would go back, for the 40 days event, and see my grandfathers grave again, and I don't know if I'm prepared for it. But who would be?

I still wonder, how far would we go, so we would never have to say goodbye.